Blind
by Somberdead
Summary: Jason the Toy Maker. He was obsessed as usual, the narcissist had no idea what he was in for when the person he had been stalking had denied his hand and his offerings like promises of immortality. What on earth is the killer to do, especially when the things left buried in the past started springing up again... Rated M for gore and possible lemons


Blind

Prologue

I watched her for what seemed like decades, but was only a few measly years. Oh, how the time had passed… I had become infatuated by her really, something about the way she carried herself just put me in a daze as she swayed by. My dear Skitter, she was a fragile blossom and I was a reckless storm. I watched her from the time she was sixteen. I found her on your typical stormy night. A deer had jumped in front of her car as she drove home and she had swerved off of the shoulder, ramming into a tree and launched from the windshield. She crawled half a mile before giving up, glass seven inches long had lodged itself in her back and forearm. I heard her cries of pain to her luck.

Tears had mixed with salty rain and mud and streamed down her face. Poor Skitter had vomited from the excruciating pain that was slowly killing her. She clearly wasn't ready to die. It was paining me to see her bright, young spirit dwindle away, unheard, unknown and I knew I had to do something. She had looked up at me, blood gushed out of her mouth and her eye's life was fading. I offered her my hand, all she had to do was take it, yet she stared at me almost to say "what's the catch?".

I offered her my hand once more and she raised a shaky hand from off the ground, grasping it with what little strength she had before fainting. I knew then just by her touch how strong she really was, and I wanted her. A hungry craving came upon me, and I watched her like a hawk. I watched her grow into the young lady she is today. I saw all of her good and bad, even if she was unaware of my presence. I watched her recovery, even watched her cry for the first time when her mother had sent her get-well letters and her father had burned them in front of her. Before her seventeenth birthday her father had finally snapped and came upon her, beating her senseless and the next day she filed to be emancipated, which went through.

Skitter was always able to take care of herself. When she turned nineteen, she traveled to Japan to study fine arts and even karate. After a year, she came back to American and to her home in Rhode Island where she met her boyfriend Bryce. I liked him honestly, he treated her well, and she loved him. But I need it to end, I don't like the fact that another man, another _person_ , could touch what's mine. I know everything about her after all. I've seen her broken and nearly on her death bed, I've tasted her soul for god's sake! I've seen her good, there has been days when she has come home from work with a bright smile and the scent of rich coffee and peppermint lingering on her skin.

There was days where she has been stressed but never broken down, fixing her own problems with a simple bubble bath and a thick paper back novel. Some days she would just spend the day prancing around her apartment in her underwear tidying up and blasting her favorite songs on the radio. And she loved to game, Skitter could spend a whole weekend, if her studies allowed her, to sit on the floor of her room, controller in hands and an oversized tee-shirt on. The look of determination on her face was beautiful as she played. I like her most when she was angry. Although Skitter was a fragile jewel, she could become a rhino when angered, throwing punches when necessary, later on those nights her anger would be replaced with lust and her hands would run down her smooth thighs in the candle-light, fingers slipping inside of herself.

Oh, how I craved her, but how I could never touch her. I wanted to touch those smooth thighs, I wanted to inhale that sweet peppermint, but my own bound laws could never allow me. There are things of this world that not even the devil himself will acknowledge, and God himself quivers under his sheets like a child.

For her heart was no place for a monster like me.


End file.
